


The Red Tiles of the Red House

by hurtfairchild



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Emperor's Daughter Clary, F/F, First Meetings, Running Away, Steampunkish AU, defying parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurtfairchild/pseuds/hurtfairchild
Summary: Clary runs away from her tyrannical parents, following a mysterious address to a brothel where she meets Maia.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Maia Roberts
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	The Red Tiles of the Red House

**Author's Note:**

> Maia has a lot of jobs in the house but her main profession is blacksmith. 
> 
> I don't know where all of this came from, it was vaguely inspired by a picture my friend Sapph posted. 
> 
> It might be one of the first time I write something that doesn't end badly, though this is a one shot and there might be follow-ups with dire consequences for Clary. 
> 
> This work is unbeta'ed.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Banned Together Bingo Prompt: Defying Parents

Everyone knew of the Emperor’s daughter’s red hair. She guessed she should have hidden better when she’d ran from the palace. Maybe she should have worn it in a bun, or maybe she should have hidden it under a hood. Better than walking through the winding streets of the capital with her hair down to her heels, as it always was.

She’d never cut it. She’d never been allowed to. She’d never been told why, since her mother, father and brother cut their hair regularly. But she hadn’t been allowed to. She hadn’t been allowed a lot of things.

The noise of the streets was almost overwhelming. She’d never been outside of the palace. All of this, the noises and smells and colors, were repeatedly punching her in the face, making her wish someone had told her it would be like this. 

Clary clutched the piece of paper with the address written in charcoal on it in her hand. She hadn’t had a pencil near when she’d been given the address, she’d just had some notebook paper and the charcoal she used in her sketches. She tried to force herself not to clutch the paper too hard. She was afraid the sweat of her palms would smudge the words until they were unrecognizable and she was forever lost.

The street she was on had been paved a long time ago. Long enough that half of the paving had been moved by the motions of the soil and were not providing a smooth road anymore. It would have been an incredibly bumpy ride had she been in one of the carriages, and it was surely an ankle-turner now.

The houses were tilted towards the middle of the street, providing an almost canopy-like shade. They were painted sun yellow, warm orange and dusty red. Clary had lived most of her life in pure white stone. This was all wood and color. 

Women with their hair up and hidden under caps stared at the cascade of red locks down her back, rippling with the folds of her train. She wasn’t wearing the most complicated of outfits but her dresses were all court attire, with bustles and trains and layers of petticoat and lace and bows. All a pure, virginal white of course. The Morgensterns would never allow their unmarried daughter to wear anything else.

The bottom of her dress was muddy now, brown and disgusting and she couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Freedom. She would never walk through the incredibly clean palace, she would never be constantly kept in a state of pure cleanliness that made her feel like breathing was too much and too dirty, too lively. 

This, the people, the colors, the street itself, was so lively that her guards and maids would have probably yelled at her for even thinking of walking through them. She hiked up her skirt and started up the stairs of a narrow passage. Hopefully, she was still walking in the right direction. 

The more she walked, the dirtier it got, with the smells of rotting flesh and fruit rising from the gutted-open trash bags on the sides of the alleyway. She scrunched her nose, but kept walking. That was what came with freedom, she guessed. And if she really wanted to be free, she had to get used to this. Else, she might as well go back home and live the rest of her life before marriage in her too-clean chambers.

The passerbys, the women that had stared at her un-hidden hair, had not seemed to follow her into the staircased alleyway, and she was now alone, with her summer court dress and her long hair. If there was a crownsguard passing by, he would immediately recognize her for who she was, despite the veil she always wore on her face. Maybe even especially because of that.

There weren’t too many red-haired women in the city, let alone ones with ankle-length locks, pure white dresses and veils hiding most of their faces. They would take her back immediately to the palace, and she wouldn’t be able to fight back. She’d never been trained in combat, contrary to Jonathan. She’d been kept small, light, pale and weak.

The door of the house she’d been told to go to was painted red, which wasn’t that out of place. She’d originally thought that a red door would be too incongruous, but in this side of the city, it didn’t look wrong. 

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, the old paint leaving red dust on the white of her gloves. 

Heavy footsteps resounded behind and the door opened suddenly, just a little, enough so she could see the eye of a person in the opening. 

“What do you want?” 

Clary swallowed. If she gave her name, she would surely be pushed away. She wouldn’t bear the punishment she got when she came back home, dirty from her excursion. 

“I was told to come here,” she replied, holding the paper with the address up to the person’s eye. “I come from the palace.”

The eye widened and the door opened just an inch more. “Are you alone, child?” 

Clary nodded quietly. The door suddenly opened all the way and an arm grabbed hers, pulling her brutally inside of the house. The door slammed shut as Clary squeaked in surprise. 

“You didn’t come with very good timing at all,” they said and let go of Clary, walking down the narrow and humid corridor and beckoning her to follow them. There were torches on the wall but it didn’t help Clary identify the person much more. They were wrapped in layers of clothing, all various shades of grey.

“I didn’t have many windows of opportunity,” Clary replied, sharper than she’d intended.

“We’ll keep you in a room until tomorrow. A group of Northern radicals are staying here for the night, and we do not want them seeing you. They do not hold your family in their hearts.”

Clary swallowed. She guessed she understood. She was leaving them for her own personal reasons, but what they’d done to her was lesser than what they’d done to the entire island, from the Northern lands to the Southern isles. They would probably not be kind to her if they saw her.

The host guided her further into the house, the corridor twisting and narrowing further as they passed closed doors. Loud cries could be heard from the other sides of the doors, and Clary gave her guide a questioning and worried look.

“We’re a state-recognized brothel, girl. That’s why this is a safe space for you.” 

Clary shuddered. She’d never been to this kind of place, had only heard about them briefly when overhearing conversations between her brother and his guards. 

She walked past a couple open rooms, with tables and chairs and cups of what seemed like beer sitting there, being sipped on by rows of what she imagined were the rebels she’d been warned. A tall bald pale man’s eyes fixed on her as she walked by and she quickly averted her eyes.

She was led up a wooden staircase that seemed to tremble with every step she took and the fourth door of the third level was hers. It was high above the street level and she couldn’t help but immediately look through the window. 

The brothel was a tall house on the top of one of the heels of the capital, and the view was incredibly impressive. She could see the red-tiled roofs of the neighborhood, the area they covered growing narrower and narrower until they reached the center of the city, mixing with the blue, black and white of the three other main districts. And up the slope of blinding white roofs, right across the window, was the palace. The walls great and white were reflecting the sun rays and making Clary squint. She could almost see her bedroom window from there. 

“Call for me if you need anything. We’ll bring you food,” the person added before slamming the door shut behind themselves.

Clary wanted to ask them what their name was, if she needed anything, but it was too late. The key was turning in the lock, locking her in the small room with its single bed. 

Clary walked across the room, a few steps from the door to the window and back. A chamber pot and some water had been put on a stool. The bed was small, low on the ground. She sat on it. The mattress was relatively thin. She wouldn’t sleep well on that.

She could probably take off her veil and gloves and probably most of her clothing now that she was in a room alone. But she didn’t want to. For some reason she couldn’t really pinpoint, she didn’t feel safe enough to take off all of those layers.

She stayed there, sitting and wondering what time it was, what her parents were doing now, if they’d realized she was gone. If they had started sending people to find her. 

She woke up hours later, having fallen asleep on the thin mattress. Someone was knocking at the door. The noise of keys rattling against the wooden door as one slid into the lock made her bolt from her bed and try to straighten her clothing. Her dress was wrinkled and her veil had shifted so most of her face was uncovered. She struggled to put it back as her visitor opened the door.

The woman had her hair up in a bun but Clary could see dark coils escaping the hairstyle at her temples. She looked a little tired but kind, with dark circles under dark eyes. She was beautiful, Clary thought. 

The woman’s stays were covered in dark leather and worn over her undershirt and with flowy-like pants. Clary couldn’t stop staring at her legs. There was an apron, leather as well but slightly lighter in color, over the ensemble. Clary didn’t really know what to make of it. She’d seen women with aprons, in the kitchen of the palace or her maids with aprons, but never in leather, and never with pants, and never in that rich brown color that was so similar to the woman’s skin.

She must look ridiculous to her, she realized, all enveloped in her voluminous white gown, face covered. 

“I was asked to bring you this,” the woman said, putting a tray down on the end of the bed. “We’ll cut your hair and give you new clothes tomorrow so people don’t realize who you are. It’s very obvious right now.” 

Clary nodded. She could understand that. “Will I get pants?” She asked curiously.

“Would you be comfortable in pants?” The woman, whose name Clary really wanted to know, replied.

“I’ve never worn any,” Clary shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“I’ll try to find you a pair so you can see, but I don’t know if you’ll feel good about it. I know ladies who have always worn dresses have trouble with pants at first. Too form-fitting. And you seem like someone who isn’t used to showing her body.” 

That was an understatement. She’d been covered from head to toe since birth. Clary nodded. The woman’s arms were bare and the muscles strong under her skin. 

“Do you need anything else from me?” 

“What’s your name?” Clary blurted out.

The woman looked a little hesitant but she smiled. “Maia.” 

_ Maia.  _ Clary hummed. It was a good and beautiful name. Strong, simple, the kind that Clary had never gotten.

“I’m Seraphina,” she introduced herself.

“I know,” Maia replied. “Your hair, your clothing, the veil, it’s not very discreet. That’s why we’ll get rid of it all tomorrow. And of your name. You should think about it tonight.”

Clary nodded. She should, definitely. Maia stood awkwardly in the room for a moment, looking at her, at the tray, at the window in turn. Her lips were full and her skin darker than anyone Clary had ever really had a conversation with before. She was beautiful, strong-looking, and the leather apron showed a level of skill Clary didn’t think she could have. She wanted to keep looking at the girl for hours.

“I’m gonna go back to work,” Maia said after a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clary couldn’t help but smile at that. “Good night,” she muttered as the woman exited the room.

The keys rattled in metallic noises against the door again, as she was locked into her room. Clary found herself looking forward to the next day, more so than she’d ever looked forward to something before.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've enjoyed this, feel free to hit me up @hurtfairchild on tumblr! I love hearing back from people <3 (anons are on)
> 
> If you're interested in an 18+ Shadowhunters server not focused on Malec, come and check out Everything But The Institute Sink! https://discord.gg/hXekdtM


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